Flowers of Vanity, the Final
by guillotineghost
Summary: Something like you isn't supposed to exist, something like me shouldn't exist.  Vanitas, Oneshot


The Final

A Vanitas Fanfiction

Rated: M

"Hecxy, just shut up. I won't let them take you back to your old man."

I was okay with the idea that you were just using me, that you were actually the monster they made you out to be. I believed you were capable of changing yourself, but if you wouldn't want to, what's the point?  
>The Unversed caused you only more pain and frustration, I knew, but the flow of things wouldn't stop.<br>That was the curse of existing as an incomplete being, the hex laid upon you by your creator.

I was no longer a princess. My father had abandoned me. I was powerless, I couldn't offer you a heart, I couldn't offer you salvation from the eternal pain of your existence.

Salvation for myself was never an option.  
>I was born corrupted, born tainted by the darkness.<br>But I chose instead to embrace the darkness and make it my lover until you took what innocence of mine was left that October night.  
>The cold breeze that swept through the open window in your room, the room you took me in, chilled and crumbled what was left of my heart after the abandonment of my father, and I became a Nobody.<p>

I became something that can only act.  
>I remember what it was like to feel, and for you, I remember what it was like to feel endearment towards another being.<p>

I can only evaluate and judge circumstances, decide what mask I need to wear and for what occasion.  
>With who should I appear joyful, with who should I create tears, with who should I be cold towards...<br>Should I get confused, I would only flail in attempts to act "correctly", panicked.  
>You would laugh at such things...<p>

"Suicide is the proof of life."

You would tell me that when I thought about ending myself.  
>Every time the idea even crossed my mind.<br>The numbness of nothingness was worse than feeling emotional turmoil.  
>It was nothing.<br>Any kind of emotion would have been better than nothing.  
>I would try to create distressful feelings for myself.<br>Emotions of happiness or warmth cannot reach me now.

I had purpose.  
>You.<br>Yet my own existence still seemed futile as a whole.  
>But for you I wanted to continue existing.<p>

The closest thing to feeling anything without recalling the sensation of a heart was your taking me every night.  
>The cuts, the blood, the burning crimson along my porcelain complexion.<p>

"Every time you bleed, there lies a reason to live."

You whispered those words to me, the way the moon whispers goodnight to the stars before tucking them away in a blanketing sunrise.

You were being kind to me in the only way you could.  
>Only you understood my pain. You knew about my condition.<br>I wasn't from this world. I didn't belong here.  
>You didn't belong anywhere.<p>

I wanted to give you a place to belong, but how could I, when I didn't even have a home myself?  
>You wanted to give me love, companionship, but how could you, when you were never granted the gift of the possibility of fulfillment?<br>You knew I wanted reassurance that you truly felt that way, and you gave it to me.

A flash of gratitude blazed in the golden orbs that cut through me in the darkness.  
>This was the only way I could return your kindness, was to accept it.<br>You could show affection only by hurting. It's all you knew.

"Even if I engraved the meaning that I lived, into my hand..."

The instruments on the nightstand next to us were used in our own form of recovery.

"It would only be known as flowers of vanity."

You asked me once if you really existed, your harsh voice inaudible and your words only comprehensible by the soft movement of your lips.

Before I could answer, you laughed.

"Why be a sad bait?"

Something like you couldn't continue to exist, something like me shouldn't begin to exist.  
>I didn't want you to put an end to it, to cease your existence altogether to form something for the benefit of your selfish creator.<br>Any artist is damned by their art, by their creation.

I agreed with you.

My own life, my own consciousness that burned a void into my memory, my database of feelings, began to default at that moment.  
>The moment we decided we had to put an end to the misery that was nothing, the hell that everlasting hatred.<p>

I put my forehead to your chest and listened to the faint beating of your heart. That was a gesture I think I liked to do. Because you had one to listen to, at least.

"So, I can't live...so, I can't live..."

You call my name and tell me what you wish you could feel, what I know you would force yourself to endure if given the opportunity, and I feel the cold sharpness pierce my scarred flesh and dig into the void in my chest.

I hold a duplicate tool in my shaking hand and, returning the feelings I can only imagine, I almost feel a warm embrace hold my wrist as I push forward.

When we've lost enough of the burning liquid, when the torn sensation in our flesh wears out, we'll embrace each other one last time, as lovers, as friends, yearning for proof of existing...wishing for what we couldn't have.

Vanitas...  
>Let's put an end to... <p>


End file.
